


Beguiled

by marmolita



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Gunplay, Light Dirty Talk, Older Woman/Younger Man, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 01, Semi-Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Woman on Top, light humiliation, there is actual plot in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanessa Marianna returns to New York to pick up where Fisk left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beguiled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kinkmeme repost madness [BDSM category](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6916.html?thread=13322244#cmt13322244).
> 
> WARNINGS: oh boy, I'm not sure how to warn for this one, so if I miss something let me know and I'll update. Gunplay with a loaded gun, femdom, non-negotiated kink, sex in a public building where someone could walk in, maybe a little bit of humiliation.

The trials go on for months. Between the dirty cops, the drug dealers, the money laundering, and the real estate fraud, there are over a hundred defendants. Matt, Foggy, and Karen don't attend all of the trials, but they do sit in on some of the less cut-and-dry cases for the satisfaction of seeing justice done.

It's in the middle of the trials that Vanessa Marianna returns to New York. Matt catches her scent in the courthouse, acrylics and the acrid tang of paint thinner layered under expensive perfume, and he stops short in the middle of the hall. He hasn't been in her presence beyond the one time, but coming face to face with Fisk is not something he's going to forget any time soon. Focusing in, he's trying to find and listen to her conversation when Foggy catches up and bumps his arm.

"Hey, man, Brett just told me they're bringing Fisk's girlfriend up on conspiracy charges. Apparently she just waltzed into the station with a team of lawyers."

Matt sighs, irritated at having his concentration broken. He waves vaguely down the hall and says, "I know, they're questioning her over there."

"How did-- Oh, right. Sorry. Did you want to, uh . . . "

Matt tucks his hand around Foggy's elbow and shakes his head. "No, there's no reason for us to stick around. Let's go."

***

He's getting a drink from the water fountain outside his courtroom when he runs into her again, this time much closer. She's alone, coming out of the women's restroom, no bodyguards as far as he can tell. He straightens up as she approaches, her steps slowing to a halt when she recognizes him. _Danger_ , his body says, and he tenses his muscles just in case.

"Matthew," she greets him, "it's been a while. Did you ever end up finding a painting for your apartment?"

"Oh, I, uh . . . " He tries to project confusion, because what blind man would recognize a woman he met once by her voice alone?

"I'm sorry," she says, reaching forward and taking his right hand into a handshake. "Vanessa Marianna. We met several months ago at my art gallery; as I recall you were on opposing sides of a tenancy case with my significant other at the time."

"Yes, of course." He shakes her hand, extending his senses for any kind of danger and finding none, just a deeply unsettled feeling in the pit of his gut. "I'm . . . sorry for how that turned out for you."

"Not at all." Her voice is smooth as silk, and it tickles pleasantly in his ears. "Of course I had no idea what Wilson had gotten himself involved in." _Lie, lie, lie_ but she lies so well, no hint of uncertainty in her voice. "That's why I'm here, as a matter of fact. Apparently I have to do some work to clear my name." Vanessa lets out a self-deprecating sigh. "That's what I get for falling for the wrong man."

Before he can reply (not that he knows what he would have said), a man approaches them. Matt tenses for a fight but he just says, "Ms. Marianna, they need you back in the courtroom."

"Goodbye, Matthew," she says to him as she turns to leave. "Perhaps I'll see you around."

***

"She's up to something," Karen says, dropping a stack of files on Matt's desk. He takes the earbud of his screen reader out of his ear and turns his face up to her.

"Who is?"

"That _Vanessa_ woman. Fisk's girlfriend." Karen perches on the edge of his desk, leaning over to straighten some of the papers he has scattered around. Matt leans back, the scrape and shuffle of paper moving through her hands a common and comforting sound around their office.

"What do you think she's up to? Did she say something to you in the courthouse?"

"No, she just-- I saw her in the ladies' room, you know, washing hands. She _looked_ at me, and she _smiled_ , and I just think she's up to something."

"I thought it was normal for women to be sociable in the restroom," Foggy says, coming over to stand in the doorway. "No guy code macho nonsense about keeping your eyes to yourself."

"Yes, but-- Come on, Matt, you're with me on this, right?"

"I can't say that there's anything inherently suspicious about it from what you just told us," Matt says. "Believe me, I don't trust her either, but I'm not sure how smiling politely is evidence of any kind of criminal action."

"It wasn't the fact that she smiled," Karen huffs, "it was they _way_ she smiled. Like, like a cat that's got the cream, or something."

"Nice metaphor," Foggy says, "very original."

Karen makes a frustrated noise and throws her hands in the air. "I don't know why I bother with the two of you."

Matt sits up and says, "Wait, wait, Karen. Listen, I'm not trying to say you're wrong. I just don't think we should make any assumptions without more information."

"What are you saying?" Foggy asks. "You want to investigate her?"

"We're lawyers, we're not detectives. But I've got a court date tomorrow and the courtroom next door happens to be where they're doing her trial, so I'll keep my ears open during the recesses and see if I can find anything out."

***

His court appearance isn't until 10:30 and the case is simple enough that he doesn't have much preparation left to do, but Matt arrives at the courthouse at 8:00 and slides into a seat in the back of Vanessa's trial. It's closed to cameras, but he can hear the scritch-scratch of reporters taking notes and the court artist making sketches that will be in the news if this trial gets at all interesting.

The fact is, though, that the proceedings are actually quite dull. The prosecutors barely have enough evidence to go on, and are relying mostly on testimony from Fisk's cronies who took plea bargains. Also, Vanessa has a great team of attorneys, and they're skewering the credibility of all the witnesses. When he leaves to go to his own appearance, all Matt has gathered is that he's pretty confident Vanessa's going to get off.

His case runs longer than he expected, late into the afternoon, and he's in the middle of his closing statement when she slips into the room. He's rehearsed this statement enough that he doesn't stumble, but he also can't help the slight uptick of his own heart when he detects her presence. She's wearing the same perfume as last time, subtle to most but strong to him, impossible to miss.

When the jury leaves to deliberate, the scent of her perfume draws closer, along with the click of her heels. "That was quite a lovely closing statement, Matthew," she says. "You had me convinced."

"Too bad you're not on the jury," he says with a smile, sliding his files into his briefcase. "I sat in on a little of your trial this morning. How's it going?"

Vanessa laughs, deep and throaty and musical. "I think we'll be wrapping up in another day or two. It will be nice to have this all behind me and move on to bigger and better things."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Such as . . . ?"

"Oh, you know. Restoring my gallery's reputation, maybe an expansion? There are a few new artists I've had my eye on I might talk into consignment contracts." She leans closer, an intimate sharing of space, and says in a low voice, "The art market is ripe for the taking at the moment." Her words are so perfectly formed, her voice so smooth, that he can't tell if she's actually talking about art, or if she's amusing herself by using a metaphor for the mess in the organized crime world that Fisk left behind.

He tries to think of a good response, but then the jury is coming back in, and his client is being found not guilty, and when the court closes Vanessa is long gone.

***

Matt goes out as Daredevil that night. He punches a few faces in and kicks a would-be rapist in the balls, but mostly he listens. There have been whispers of a new player in town for the last couple of weeks, but it's all vague rumors, nothing concrete.

He swings by Scene Contempo Gallery, but the stale scent of the air tells him it's been closed for months.

***

Vanessa is found not guilty. Karen punches the keys on her laptop too hard and grinds her teeth enough to give Matt a headache. Foggy just shrugs and says, "Well, it's not like she was his right hand man or something, she was just his girlfriend, right? Maybe she actually didn't know."

"Oh, she knew alright." Matt rolls up his sleeves and settles his hands on his hips. "They just didn't have the proof. Still, that doesn't necessarily mean she's got anything to do with it now."

"You don't really believe that, do you Matt?" Karen asks. He shrugs.

"I don't know. It would make sense to lay low until her charges were cleared, at least, so I doubt she's done anything yet. She made a clean break with Fisk, hasn't been to visit him in prison at all. It could be for show, to back up her claim that she didn't know about his criminal enterprise, but I'm not so sure."

"Well can we find out more? What should we do?" Karen taps a pencil repeatedly against her desk. "I could go to her gallery, look around--"

"No," Matt and Foggy say together, then Matt says, "It's too dangerous," and Foggy says, "Can we maybe spend a few more months _not_ in danger for our lives?"

Karen sighs. "We can't just sit here and do nothing."

"That's exactly what we're going to do," Matt says, "for now. Until there's something more to go on, there's no point." He can hear the sharpness of Karen's breathing, her heart going _thump-thump, thump-thump_ , so he puts his hand on her shoulder to help her relax. After a long moment, she nods.

"She just nodded," Foggy says, and they all laugh.

***

It's infuriating, how little information he can find. The more jaws he breaks the more certain he is that Vanessa's picking up where Fisk left off, but he can't manage to get close enough to anyone who matters. Matt decides it's time for a different approach, so he starts making a habit of stopping by the coffeeshop nearest to Vanessa's gallery, hoping to run into her.

It doesn't take long. She comes up behind him as he waits his turn to order, with a line about being surprised to see him. He buys her drink for her and listens while she tells him about her plans for reopening her gallery.

He smiles and touches her hand. She gives him her number.

***

"You have a _date_ with Fisk's girlfriend?" Foggy's voice over the phone is about an octave higher than normal.

"Would you rather have me hang her off the side of a building until she confesses? Because I could do that instead."

"No! No, no. No torturing people and leaving them in comas. No." There's a moment while Foggy tries to get his breathing back under control. Matt uses the time to switch his phone to speaker so he can get some leftovers out of the fridge. "Why are we doing this again? Why are we even getting involved in this?"

"Because Karen asked us to," Matt replies mildly.

"Oh, and you really think Karen was thinking that the best way to find out what Vanessa Marianna is up to is for you to sleep with her?"

"It's just dinner, Foggy."

"Uh huh. Matt, I _know_ you," Foggy hisses. "'Dinner' never means 'dinner' for you."

"Look, if I find out anything useful, I'll let you know, okay?"

There's a low sound that Matt's pretty sure is Foggy chewing on his lip, then Foggy finally replies, "Okay, fine. But if you get chlamydia don't come crying to me."

***

Dinner is just dinner after all. Vanessa chooses the restaurant -- it's one of the ones Fisk's syndicate used to own. She says she's friends with the chef. She's wearing something tight; it doesn't swish in the air and he can hear the fabric shift every time she moves. Matt wonders if she's dressing to impress the other clientele at the restaurant or the people who work there.

They make small talk. He asks her to order for him so he doesn't need to make her read out the whole menu, and she seems particularly pleased at being given control over what he eats. When he tries to gently suggest that he's on a public interest lawyer's budget, she laughs and tells him not to worry about it. It would hurt his ego but at this point he's pegged that she enjoys being the one to have the power, and that to her he's an indulgence, so he plays along.

The wine the sommelier recommends is excellent, a full-bodied red from Tuscany, and it pairs perfectly with the braised lamb she orders for him. By the time they're ready to move on to dessert, Matt has to actively remember that he's not supposed to be enjoying himself. He breathes in deeply, letting the scent of gunpowder remind him that she's carrying a concealed weapon in her purse.

He's taken a few bites of the dessert they're sharing, the custard thick and sweet on his tongue, when she says, "You know, Wilson is the one who introduced me to _zuppa inglese_." He chokes a little, coughing to recover. Vanessa chuckles. "I'm sorry, it's incredibly rude of me to bring up ex-boyfriends on a first date."

"No, that's-- that's quite alright," Matt replies. "I'm sure your relationship with him had a lasting impact on you."

"If you mean getting me arrested for conspiracy, then yes," she says wryly. "But despite his . . . methods . . . he did actually have the best interests of the city at heart. He used to speak at length about his dreams for the future, for no more crime on the streets, a safe place to live for everyone."

"Everyone who can afford it." It's a mistake to say but Matt can't stop himself. She breathes out in what's almost a laugh.

"Yes, I suppose so."

They walk back to her apartment, his hand tucked into her elbow and his cane helping detect all the obstacles she fails to warn him about. At the top of the stairs to her building, he says, "Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome," she says, pleased. It might be the wine, or just the heady, intoxicating sound of her voice, but he leans in and kisses her, cupping her face as he teases her lips apart.

She tastes good.

Vanessa pulls away too soon, and Matt can't help feeling like even though he's the one who kissed first, she's the one who made him do it. "Goodnight, Matthew," she says. "We should do this again."

***

It turns out Karen isn't as happy about him trying to seduce Vanessa as he thought she might be.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she says angrily, standing up from her desk. "You're-- you're-- What the hell are you thinking, Matt?"

He holds up his hands defensively. "Hey, wait a minute. I thought you wanted to know what she was up to."

"Yeah, but not--"

"We just had dinner, that's all. Listen, she took me to one of Fisk's restaurants. I think she's running it now. She didn't say anything that obvious, but she's got money -- a lot of money -- and everyone there was just a little too eager to please her. I think she's trying to take his place."

Karen sighs and sits back down. "Aren't the other guys still duking it out though? The Russians and the Chinese? And I thought I read an article yesterday about MS-13 moving in."

"Yeah, well, trying to take his place doesn't mean she's going to succeed. Besides, didn't-- didn't uh, Daredevil take out some of those MS-13 guys the other day?"

"Yeah but he's just one guy, he can't be everywhere at once, right?"

Matt tightens his fingers on his cane. "No, no he can't."

***

Late-night surveillance of Vanessa's apartment building pays off a few days later when he catches a group of Russian mobsters trying to break in through the roof entry. They're professionals but not highly skilled, and he takes them out easily, breaking a few of their bones along the way. He's got the last conscious one on the ground, foot on his throat, choking out the names of his bosses and the disputed turf that brought them here, when the roof door opens and closes. Still breathing hard from the fight, he cocks his head in that direction to identify the intruder.

It's her, of course, and she's surprisingly alone. He could take her out right now. He could get his hands around her throat, he could slam her head into the concrete, he could--

"My goodness," she says calmly, facing the unconscious men. Then she turns to him, and he catches the sound of the gun in her hand, not aimed, safety still on; she's just holding it, just in case. "Somehow I never expected the Devil of Hell's Kitchen to come to my rescue."

The humor in her voice twists like a knife in his stomach. "I'm not here to save you," he snarls, pressing harder on the man under his foot's windpipe until he passes out. He kicks him again for good measure, then advances on her. She lets him get in close, then clicks the safety off and cocks the gun when he's just out of reach.

The suit would probably protect him. He's been shot while wearing it before, and while he's gotten some pretty serious bruised ribs, the weave over his chest is solid.

There's a swish of air as she lifts her arm higher, aiming for his face, and he stops in his tracks.

"Fisk's empire is gone," he tells her. "You can't resurrect it."

She chuckles, the same low, throaty chuckle he'd heard at dinner the other night. "I don't know what you're talking about. Don't you read the news? I was acquitted on conspiracy charges. I'm afraid I don't know anything about Wilson's 'empire.'"

"You always pull a gun on your rescuers?"

"You admitted you weren't here to save me. A sensible woman always thinks the worst of dangerous men in masks." The wet slide of her licking her lips is loud in his ears, and he bites his tongue. "Though I have to say, if I were going to be assaulted on my roof in the middle of the night, I'd rather it be by someone who looks as good as you."

Matt can't help the flush that rises to his cheeks, but he shoves it down with anger. "I'll be watching you," he growls, then takes off across the roof. There's nothing more for him to learn here.

***

He has sex with her on a Tuesday. It's been a week since their date, and since then they've had lunch once and coffee twice, and he's started to tease tiny bits of information out of her but nowhere near enough to build a case on.

He finds her in the courthouse, where he's just finished up an arraignment, and Foggy and Karen are talking about where to go for lunch. She's at the end of the hall, talking with a clerk, and Matt can't help his head jerking in her direction as he focuses in.

"Matt? What do you think, Vietnamese or--"

He turns back to Foggy, realizing he's lost the thread of the conversation. "Sorry, what?" Foggy gives an exasperated sigh and Karen chews her lip.

"Go on, Casanova. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were actually interested in her."

"Don't be ridiculous," Matt says, though his heart thumps out _lie_. "I think I'm starting to make progress."

"Good, because she's coming over here," Karen hisses at him.

"Matthew, I didn't expect to see you here," Vanessa says, heels clicking lightly on the marble floor. "Though I suppose that's a silly thing to say, of course a lawyer would be at the courthouse."

"Text me where you're going and I'll catch up with you later," Matt says to Foggy and Karen; he's pretty sure they're rolling their eyes at him, but their hearts are also rabbiting like they're afraid of Vanessa, so they make a hasty retreat.

Facing Vanessa, he puts on his most charming smile and says, "Well, it _is_ my job. What about you?"

She sighs. "More paperwork. You know, this building is so lovely and yet I've only seen a couple of the courtrooms and offices. I don't suppose you'd like to give me a tour?"

Matt agrees readily, and guides her through the levels of the courthouse. She takes his arm and he leads with his cane, through the areas he's memorized the layout of. The heat from her body gets warmer the further they go into the depths of the building, and her fingers start wandering over his arm. She corners him in an empty courtroom, pressing herself up against him and dragging his head down. Her lips are hot and wet, and her hands slide easily under his jacket and down the back of his pants.

"We shouldn't-- Not here," he whispers between kisses, aware of the security cameras installed throughout the building.

"No?" she asks. "You strike me as the type who likes to take risks." Her hand moves around to the front of his slacks and he groans. Taking her hand, Matt pulls her into the jury room, hoping to God that there's nothing scheduled in this courtroom until late afternoon. He pushes her back against the wall, kissing her neck and sliding his hand up her skirt, and he's so caught up it doesn't even occur to him to remember that he's doing this for any reason other than because she's a beautiful woman with a voice that sends sparks straight to his cock. The scent of her arousal is enough to make his mouth water.

There's no way to take his time with her here though, not when someone could come in at any moment, so he slides his fingers into her panties, rubbing her lightly as she gets wetter and wetter. "Open your pants," she tells him, and so he does, taking his hands off her long enough to unbuckles his belt and unzip his fly, and then he's got his fingers inside her again and she's moaning, hot and wet and tight around him, and her hand is on his cock, almost too much stimulation for his oversensitized skin.

He brings her off with two fingers inside her and his thumb on her clit, then she makes him jerk himself with that same hand while she watches. His hand smells like her, and then he smells like her, and right before he comes Matt has an awful moment of realizing he's in far deeper than he planned.

Vanessa kisses him, after, and gives him a tissue from her purse. "I had a feeling you'd enjoy that," she murmurs in his ear, and he shivers a little at how right she is.

***

When he gets back to the office, the scent of her still all over him, Foggy helps fix his hair without comment, then offers him leftovers from lunch.

***

Vanessa has a complement of bodyguards who follow her around at a distance. They're like the secret service: close enough to be there in case something happens, but far enough away to be unobtrusive and inconspicuous.

To Matt, however, they're not as invisible as they are to everyone else. He's counted twelve of them in all, recognizable by their standard-issue pistols. Three of them are on duty at any given time, though she sends them farther away when she and Matt are alone together. He's not entirely certain why she trusts him that much but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

One of them really likes Doritos, so much so that it's easy for Matt to pick him out of a crowd by the smell of his breath alone. When he suits up for the night, Matt decides to follow Doritos when he finishes his shift, to see who he reports in to.

***

"She's working with the Chinese."

"Uh, good morning?"

"Morning, Karen," Matt says belatedly as he leans his cane against the wall and takes off his jacket. "Vanessa Marianna. She's working with the Triads. She's not just picking up where Fisk left off, she's trying to do something bigger. I think she might be courting MS-13 too, and maybe the Gambinos. She's definitely not working with the Russians. Fisk was on the outs with them before this all went down in any case."

"Do you have evidence?" Foggy asks, coming out of his office.

"No, not yet." Matt sighs and sets down his briefcase. "Nothing solid, anyway."

"How did you find out?" Karen asks. "She didn't just tell you all of that."

"No, she didn't, I just, uh. I have really good hearing, you know. She's got bodyguards, and I . . . overheard them talking about it. They're getting used to me and letting their guard down, I guess."

"Maybe it's time to take it to the police," Karen suggests, worry plain in her voice. "This could be really dangerous for you, Matt."

"Give me a little more time. Maybe I can find something in her apartment, or get a recording of her saying something incriminating."

"Just . . . be careful, okay?" Foggy claps Matt on the shoulder, and Matt nods.

***

This time, Vanessa invites him into her apartment after dinner. Matt sets his phone to record surreptitiously, as he's done every time they've been alone since he caught Doritos spilling details to his boss. They make small talk while she pours them both drinks, but he can't tease any information out of her.

Instead, he ends up eating her out on the couch, her skirt bunched up around her waist, her hands in his hair and her thighs tight on his ears. She doesn't get quite as wet as a younger woman might, but she still tastes amazing. When he's gotten her off twice, the second time long and drawn out and so intense her thighs tremble and he almost comes in his pants because it's so hot, she tells him, "Enough, Matthew. Let's take this to the bedroom." He licks his lips and backs off, wanting to loosen his tie but feeling strangely like he shouldn't until she tells him to. He's felt naked and exposed since she took his glasses off of him when they came in the door.

In the pocket of his jacket, his phone is still recording.

Vanessa's bedroom is big, with a large bed in the middle. By this point, though, Matt has to struggle a bit to keep aware of his surroundings through the haze of his arousal. She tells him to strip and he does, carefully setting his clothes in a pile while she rummages around in her drawers, he assumes for condoms. Instead, there's a metallic clink, and he turns his head sharply, body tensing.

"Handcuffs," she says pleasantly. His dick twitches, smearing precum across his stomach. "Yes, I thought you'd like that." He doesn't, he shouldn't, she's too dangerous, but there's something in her voice that makes him want to do whatever she says and say thank you for it.

Also, he needs to earn her trust -- at least, that's how he rationalizes it to himself.

So when she tells him to get on the bed, he does, and he lets her cuff him to the headboard with the padded cuffs and a pile of pillows under his back. He gives them a tug after they're on, just to see how solid the chain and the headboard are. Too solid to break, and he breathes slowly to try to slow down the racing of his heart. She ties down his ankles too, with enough slack that he can bend his knees a bit but nothing else.

It's embarrassing, how turned on he is by this.

Vanessa trails her fingers over the scars on his ribs. "I see you've been a very naughty boy for someone, haven't you, Matthew?"

"Y--Yes," he says, letting her think what she wants. That particular scar might not be from kinky sex, but that doesn't mean she's wrong.

"But you're going to be so, so good for me." His blood beats in his veins as he listens to the slow slide of the zipper on her dress coming down, then the shuffle of cloth falling off her body, and the _snick_ of her bra clasp opening. The bed dips, and then she's straddling him, his cock up against her ass and her nipple nudging at his mouth. Matt opens his mouth and sucks her in, teasing with his tongue, wishing he could get his hands on her. She pulls back and he chases her with his mouth, straining against the bonds and rolling his hips to get some blissful friction against her.

Her lips are on his again, then, tongue sliding dirty inside his mouth, and he doesn't want to be so eager for this but he is, he is. There's the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and then she's rolling a condom onto his dick, and all he can think is _thank God_ because there's no way he'd last without it. Her hands settle on his shoulders as she lowers herself onto him, hot and slick and tight. Matt groans, involuntarily bucking up against her, and Vanessa laughs.

"Why are you here, Matthew?" she asks, starting to ride him tortuously slowly.

"M-- Maybe I just like listening to your voice," he says, trying to make his voice light and teasing, like hers is. It's not entirely a lie.

"Do the handcuffs turn you on?" Her breath is hot on his ear, her breasts brushing against his chest, and his own breath hitches.

"Yes."

She hums and sucks his earlobe into her mouth. "I think I'd like to make you beg. Would you like that?"

"P-- Please," he gasps, aware that he's not just playing along, that some part of him wants her to reduce him to a quivering mess, to utterly wreck him. His awareness has receded to the wet sound of her moving on top of him, the aching hardness of his cock, the tip of her tongue tracing patterns on his neck.

He's starting to get close when she slows, reaching somewhere over him behind the headboard, and then he reacts slowly, too slowly, to the sharp scent and the mechanical click. The cold barrel of a gun presses into his forehead and his nerves are too confused to register the feeling as more than the same thrill of danger that the handcuffs caused. "W-- What--"

Vanessa's still riding him, still moving steadily up and down, and his hands and feet are tied and he can't do a damn thing to stop her. "I don't appreciate meddling in my business, Matthew," she says, turning the gun and sliding the barrel down his cheek. It's loaded; he can smell the bullets. Fear and anger fight with arousal inside him as he tries to jerk his head away from her.

"I'm not--"

She cuts him off by pressing the muzzle to his mouth. "Don't lie to me. We both know what you've been doing. Now be a good boy and open your mouth." He tries to clench his teeth but she'd wedged the gun in when his mouth was open to talk, and she's still moving, still hot and wet and his dick isn't getting the message that this has gone from kinky to life-threatening. He opens his mouth.

The gun is cold but it warms quickly in his mouth, hard metal sliding against his tongue, his lips stretching around the front of the trigger guard before he starts to gag. Vanessa eases off, pulling the gun most of the way out before pushing it in again. "Suck," she orders, and God help him, he does. "I knew how good you'd look with a gun in your mouth from the moment I saw you," she breathes. "Your mouth was made for being _fucked_ , wasn't it?"

He breathes sharply through his nose, trying to focus, trying to think of anything other than the slick heat of her muscles squeezing his cock and the way she fucks his mouth with the gun like she's done it a thousand times before. She's got one hand on her clit now, and is making pleased little noises while she rides him, faster and harder, in time with the gun moving in and out of his mouth. Her finger's still on the trigger when she starts tensing, trembling, then cries out as she contracts hard around him. He can't help rolling his hips, thrusting up into her to try to find his own release, knowing it's wrong, knowing he shouldn't be getting off on this but unable to help himself.

"I've know what you were up to for a long time now," she whispers in his ear as he thrusts helplessly into her. "Ever since that night on the roof, _Daredevil_." He bites down on the gun and comes hard, shoving his hips up against hers, a wail from the back of his throat muffled by the hard metal blocking his mouth.

When his vision clears, the arousal receding into a hard, cold lump in his belly, Vanessa is climbing off of him. The gun's not in his mouth anymore, but it's still cocked and ready. "You're not going to get away with-- with any of this," he says angrily. She just laughs.

"Really now, what sort of pillow talk is that?" He twitches, oversensitized, when she pulls the condom off of him and tosses it in the trash. She knocks on the wall, and the door opens, six of her bodyguards coming in. Double the usual count, which means she'd planned this, she'd planned every moment of this night, and that makes him feel even sicker. They hold down his limbs while they take off the cuffs and manhandle him into his clothes, all of them together strong enough to resist all of his attempts to fight.

They drag him down to the front door, Vanessa with the gun still trained on his head. She clicks the safety back on right as they open the door, and pockets the gun. "You know my secrets and I know yours, Matthew," she says. "I'm sure you understand what would happen if you were to continue this . . . ill-considered investigation." He bites his lip hard enough to bleed, fists clenched so his nails dig hard into his palms. "It's a shame," she says as they pull him through the door. "You really are quite amazing in bed."

The men let go and the door swings shut before he can attack, leaving him alone in the street. Breathing hard, rage boiling up inside him, he considers breaking the door down and beating them all into a bloody pulp, but he knows it's too risky.

Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone. It's still recording. He thumbs it off in disgust.

It looks like Vanessa Marianna is going to be a far worse enemy than Wilson Fisk ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to the wonderful anons on the kinkmeme for giving me such great ideas, and to [misswonderheart](http://misswonderheart.tumblr.com) for beta. I apologize if any of the legal stuff is wrong -- if you want to correct me please feel free. Also in case it wasn't clear using a loaded gun while having sex is a terrible idea and you should never do it IRL.


End file.
